


One Time Too Many (but still I love you)

by LeapAngstily



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: (excluding the Christmas Special), Age Difference, Fluff and Angst, Insecurity, M/M, Secret Relationship, Sexual Content, Spoilers up to the season 6 finale, mentions of depression, mentions of period-typical homophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-19
Updated: 2015-12-19
Packaged: 2018-05-07 13:48:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5458700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeapAngstily/pseuds/LeapAngstily
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Saying yes is the easy part. It’s all the rest Thomas is having trouble with. <br/>Sequel to <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/5205419">The Stupid and the Hopeless</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One Time Too Many (but still I love you)

**Author's Note:**

> Remember when I said I’d probably not write more Downton Abbey fics? Yeah, forget that, I’m obviously stuck with this ship.

Thomas has made a terrible mistake.  
  
Saying yes to Andy had been such an easy thing to do: Andy had taken him by surprise, kissing him out of the blue, acting like it was no big deal at all, and Thomas had been swept off by the moment and just went along with it.  
  
Andy had looked so happy when Thomas hadn’t outright rejected him – technically, he hadn’t accepted him either, he hadn’t even returned the bloody kiss, but he might as well have judging by the footman’s reactions – and by the time Thomas came back to his senses, he hadn’t had the heart to break the boy’s illusions.  
  
But illusions they were, Thomas knew it far too intimately. They were the same illusions Thomas had held himself when he was Andy’s age, when he first came to Downton: dangerous ideas that there could be a place for someone like him – that he could be happy with someone he loved without it all ending in pain and heartbreak.  
  
He had clung to those wishes for far too long, but he’s older now; he knows better now.  
  
There’s no way they can be happy together, not like this, not while having to look over their shoulders whenever they’re not hiding behind locked doors (and sometimes even then).   
  
Not while Thomas still can’t be sure Andy truly wants to be with him.  
  
Thomas is not stupid; he knows what guilt can do to a man. And guilt is definitely there whenever Andy looks at him, even if he’s getting better at hiding it behind reassuring smiles and idle chatter. None of it changes the fact that Andy saw Thomas lying in that bathtub – carried him all the way to his room – and a sight like that is something that simply cannot be unseen.  
  
The chances are Andy isn’t like Thomas at all. He definitely never showed any signs to suggest otherwise before Thomas slit his wrists. Most likely he’s mixing up guilt and worry with attraction – he wants to help Thomas get better, that much Thomas can believe, but at what cost?  
  
What he can be certain of is that Andy would be better off without him, maybe hooking up with Daisy, going to school, learning more about pig rearing. Eventually they could even take over the farm from Mr Mason and be happy together, have a normal relationship, a normal family.   
  
Andy deserves a normal life.  
  
But Thomas is a selfish little prick – a fact he’s been reminded of far too many times to count – and he doesn’t want to give up whatever it is (happiness? companionship? pretence?) that he has with Andy. Not while he still has a say in the matter.  
  
Because even if it’s just for a moment, Andy has shown Thomas what it’s like not to be alone, and Thomas doesn’t know if he can go back to what he was before without losing his mind in the process.  
  
So he lets Andy sneak into his room late at night, returning his inexperienced but gentle kisses tentatively, before telling him to go back to his own room because they can’t afford to get caught – because while everyone knows about Thomas, they’re still blissfully unaware about Andy, and Thomas hopes to keep it that way until Andy comes back to his senses and realizes this is not what he wants after all.  
  
But for the time being, Thomas allows himself to enjoy the fluttery feeling in his stomach whenever Andy is in the same room, because it’s the first time in a very long time he’s felt anything like this.  
  
He can’t help but feel guilty about it.  
  
  
  
  
  
Andy’s reading is improving, slowly but surely.   
  
Sometimes he has a book with him when he slips into Thomas’s room after dinner – usually some silly book meant for children, but he seems so pleased with himself that Thomas wouldn’t even dream of making fun of him – and he spends the night sitting on Thomas’s bed with his nose buried in the colourful pages, not saying a word.  
  
Thomas can’t help but feel jealous, because Andy never showed this level of enthusiasm for reading back when Thomas was teaching him. He knows he’s being silly – of course a trained teacher would be able to motivate a student better than him – but that doesn’t stop him from being bitter about it.  
  
“Thomas,” Andy says one night – he never went back to ‘Mr Barrow’ after he first dropped it – the book lying forgotten in his lap, eyes trained at Thomas who’s sitting in the other end of the bed, trying to focus on his own novel. “Can you read something for me?”  
  
“Shouldn’t you be reading yourself?” Thomas asks, glancing pointedly at Andy’s book. Even he knows one can only learn to read by  _reading_.  
  
“I finished it,” Andy retorts quickly, pushing the book off his lap and letting it fall to the floor, leaning towards Thomas eagerly. “I want to know what you’re reading. I mean, you’ve so many books and I probably wouldn’t be able to read any of them – too many difficult words.”  
  
“You will, eventually,” Thomas tries to dodge the request with a shrug. “I’ll lend you some if you like. You might be surprised how much you do understand.”  
  
“But I want you to read it,” Andy insists, reaching out to touch Thomas’s knee gently. “I miss reading together, like when you were teaching me.”  
  
“You heard what Mr Dawes said about different teaching methods—”  
  
“But you wouldn’t be teaching me,” Andy cuts him off quickly, shifting closer to Thomas on the small bed. “You’d just be reading, and then I could try to pick up something new from it.”  
  
He’s looking so hopeful, so earnest, that Thomas finds himself nodding without meaning to. “Well, if you insist.”  
  
He flips the book back to the first page and lowers it into his lap to allow Andy to see the text as well. Andy scoots closer until he’s practically pressed against Thomas’s side, warmth radiating from his body, his eyes fixed on the first words.  
  
Thomas begins to read slowly, taking extra care with his pronunciation to make sure Andy can keep up with the text even as he listens. He can feel Andy’s warm breath on his shoulder as the boy silently mouths the words along with him.  
  
They read the first two chapters like that, Thomas stopping at the end of every page to allow Andy to catch up, making sure he sees every last word, and then moving on, reciting the story in a soft voice in case someone walks by his door and wonders why he’s talking to himself.  
  
At the end of the second chapter, Thomas stops and turns to look at Andy, who’s still looking down at the worn pages, his lips forming the last words carefully, his fingers reaching out to run along the lines as he finishes.  
  
“See? You can read it just fine,” Thomas comments when Andy finally looks up sheepishly. “You can just take the book and finish it on your own. I don’t mind.”  
  
“I like it better when you read it.” There’s a soft blush on Andy’s cheeks, just visible in the dim light of Thomas’s reading lamp. “Makes me feel like we’re sharing something – like it’s not just me reading stuff because the teacher told me to. That’s why I keep bringing my homework with me.”  
  
Now it’s Thomas’s turn to blush – if the soft barely noticeable heat collecting on his cheeks can be called a blush, anyways – and he looks away from Andy quickly, setting the book on the nightstand carefully.  
  
He knows what Andy is trying to say: that he’s working so hard on his reading because he wants to impress Thomas, wants to have something in common with him. Thomas remembers learning cricket as a teenager because he had a silly crush on a cricket player from the neighbouring village. In the end, he never got to show off his skills in front of him.  
  
“So, what did you think?” Thomas asks without really acknowledging Andy’s admission.  
  
“About what?”  
  
“About the book, obviously.” Thomas can’t help rolling his eyes.  _What else_ could he be talking about?  
  
Andy’s blush deepens and he lets out an embarrassed laugh. “I— kind of missed what it was about. Sorry.”  
  
He does look sorry, Thomas has to give him that, even if he is still smiling, his eyes fixed on Thomas.   
  
Thomas suddenly realizes Andy is still pressed against his side, one arm wrapped around his back casually, his hand resting on the bed next to Thomas’s hip. For a moment, he had forgotten to be wary of his surroundings, and as a result he had allowed himself to actually relax in Andy’s half-embrace.  
  
“You do realize the point of reading is to  _understand_  what’s written down, right?” Thomas snaps quickly and stands up, walking over to his bookshelf just to have something to focus on besides Andy’s sudden closeness. He realizes the words may have come out a bit too harshly only when there’s no answer from Andy.  
  
“Sorry. I know you’re just learning…” he mumbles softly with his back still turned towards Andy. He doesn’t dare to look at him – he just called Andy stupid, more or less, even though he knows that’s the one thing he’s extremely insecure about.  
  
There’s shuffle behind him as Andy stands up too. Thomas half-expects him to leave the room – maybe he finally saw Thomas for what he is – but then Andy presses up against his back, arms wrapping around his waist. There’s a brief moment when Thomas can feel Andy’s face pressed into his hair, a gentle kiss placed on top of his head, and then Andy is speaking softly.  
  
“I know what you’re doing, Thomas.” Another kiss, this time closer to his ear. “You’re not the only one scared, you know? You make me so nervous I almost can’t breathe at times. I’ve never done anything like this before.”  
  
Thomas leans back into the embrace slowly, letting out an audible sigh when Andy’s lips find his cheek this time. Andy makes it so hard to say “no” to him, no matter how many times Thomas manages to convince himself that’s exactly what he should do. For Andy’s sake.  
  
“When did you become so smart?” he teases quietly when Andy trails his mouth up to his temple next, kissing his forehead.  
  
“I’ve been talking to Miss Baxter,” Andy admits softly after a few more kisses. “It’s ridiculous: she doesn’t even know about us, and still she keeps noticing things about you I’ve no idea about.”  
  
“She can’t find out about this.” Thomas turns his head until he can see Andy’s face.  
  
“She wouldn’t mind. She cares about you.” Andy’s face is so close Thomas can practically feel his breath on his lips.  
  
“She. Mustn’t. Find. Out,” Thomas repeats slowly before he takes a deep breath and steps away from Andy’s arms. “No one can know about us, Andy. That’s just how it works.”  
  
He expects to see confusion, defiance, even anger, as he finally turns around to face Andy, but instead he’s faced with an affectionate smile.  
  
“It’s the first time you’ve said there’s an ‘us’,” Andy offers as an explanation, his smile widening as he speaks, “I can count that as a victory, can’t I?”  
  
“Of course there’s an ‘us’ – you wouldn’t be here if there wasn’t,” Thomas huffs out in frustration, trying to desperately hide how much it actually pains him to admit such a thing.   
  
He’s become too dependent on Andy – the footman is practically the only thing bringing him joy as of late – and if there’s one thing he’s learned in his years in service, it’s that he can never trust anyone but himself with his weaknesses.  
  
“If you say so.” Andy is walking backwards towards the door, his eyes not leaving Thomas’s. “I’m going to bed. Good night, Thomas.”  
  
“Good night, Andy,” Thomas answers only when Andy’s closed the door behind him, his words spoken to the empty walls.  
  
Andy’s book is still lying on the floor. Thomas picks it up and sets it next to the one on the nightstand. He’ll return it to Andy the next time he comes over.  
  
Thomas realizes he is smiling to himself. There  _will_  be a next time.   
  
It’s worrying how happy that simple thought makes him.  
  
  
  
  
  
There are days when getting out of bed is all Thomas can manage.   
  
Those days, he will go about his duties automatically, still efficient enough not to raise questions but completely uninvolved, unmotivated. He will only grunt at the hall boys when normally he would snap, and he will ignore everyone during mealtimes – a change most of them seem to welcome without a second thought, their general dislike for Thomas overweighing that nagging feeling in the back of their heads that something might not be right.  
  
Most of the staff still doesn’t know that Thomas hadn’t actually been sick with influenza during his short time off, so of course there’s no reason for them to act any differently towards him.   
  
In a way it’s a relief not to have everyone privy to his secrets, but at the same time it’s painfully difficult to go back to that same old routine where no one makes an effort to talk to him – not unless it’s to ask when he’s leaving Downton – and everything he says or does is treated with utmost suspicion.  
  
At least the danger of getting sacked is gone for the time being, Lady Mary had seen to that before she departed for her honeymoon with Mr Talbot. Thomas has no doubt the pressure for him to leave will return soon enough, once the immediate memory of his suicide attempt has been wiped under the rug and forgotten – no matter what he does, that always seems to be the case.  
  
Thomas would like to pretend he’s used to it by now, being treated like a vermin, but the truth is, he can’t handle it – never could, really; that’s why he’d tried to kill himself in the first place.  
  
On the bad days, however, even worse than the constant indifference towards him are the people who  _do_  know: the pitying looks from Anna and Mrs Hughes, the fake-casualness from Bates when he asks Thomas how he’s doing – of course Anna would tell her husband; it wouldn’t do for the goddamned Mr Bates not to know every single bloody thing happening to Thomas – and the seemingly genuine concern from Miss Baxter.  
  
Mr Carson had actually asked Thomas to come to his room once he got back to work, telling him in no-nonsense terms that if he ever decided to pull such a stunt again, he’d better do it away from Downton after serving his full notice, because apparently he’d inconvenienced the Crawley family more than enough for one lifetime.  
  
Thomas had been tempted to promise Mr Carson that next time he’d make sure he didn’t fail, because apparently him being alive is the biggest inconvenience of them all. Instead, he only smiled politely and assured the butler there was no need to worry about him.  
  
Thomas hates being pitied, but more importantly, all the apparent concern from his co-workers makes him feel weak – someone that should be pitied and felt sorry for instead of someone actually worth their respect or trust.  
  
Miss Baxter is the one exception, obviously, because for some unfathomable reason she seems to believe in Thomas much more than he believes in himself. But on the bad days, even her kindness makes Thomas feel worse about himself, because he’s never done anything to deserve it.  
  
And then there’s Andy.  
  
“Hiding?” Andy asks quietly as he joins Thomas outside, where he’s been smoking cigarette after cigarette for at least half an hour now. He comes to stand next to Thomas and leans his back against the wall much in the same way he did back when they first kissed all those weeks ago.  
  
“Shouldn’t you be at school?” Thomas counters without answering the question – of course he’s not hiding; if he was, Andy wouldn’t have found him so easily.  
  
“I called in sick,” Andy answers with a shrug, his eyes following the cigarette smoke rising towards the sky, very obviously as healthy as ever. “There’s something more important I needed to take care of today.”  
  
“Must be very important for you to skip class.” Thomas is trying his best to keep his voice casual, even though his lungs are aching from all the smoke he’s inhaled in such a short time.  
  
“He is.” Andy’s voice is nothing more than a whisper by now. He’s still following the smoke with his eyes instead of looking at Thomas.  
  
Thomas lets out an uncomfortable chuckle as he drops the half-smoked cigarette and puts it out with his foot. “Let’s not talk about this here, someone might hear us.”  
  
“There’s no one here – the servants’ hall was almost empty when I left, too.” With the smoke gone, Andy finally meets his eyes, his expression uncharacteristically serious – there’s usually at least a ghost of a smile on his lips whenever he looks at Thomas. “You’re not fine, even  _I_  can see that. I know you don’t like to talk about it, but I really wish you did; I wish you just let me help you.”  
  
Thomas is looking around self-consciously, half-expecting Mr Carson to pop up from behind the dumpsters at any moment. He has this annoying habit of appearing out of nowhere whenever Thomas is having a private conversation.  
  
“You  _are_  helping,” he finally admits quietly once he’s sure there’re no nosy butlers lurking in the shadows. He’s reluctant to meet Andy’s eyes, but does so anyways because he knows Andy will keep pushing if he doesn’t. “You’re helping me just by being here, and I’m thankful for it.”  
  
“But you still won’t talk about it?” Andy confirms quietly, disappointment visible on his face.  
  
“I’m not much of a talker these days,” Thomas shrugs off the question and fishes out his pack of cigarettes again. His lungs are hurting like hell, but he needs something to keep himself occupied. Something that’s not Andy, who’s much too good for Thomas, whose concern makes his heart ache in a way that’s not exactly good but not really bad either. “But I’ll be fine. These things, they come and go. I can handle myself.”  
  
“And if it gets really bad?” Andy places his hand on Thomas’s before he has a chance to pull out another cigarette. “Please promise me you’ll talk to me – or at least  _someone_  – if it gets worse, or if it doesn’t go away. I don’t want you to suffer on your own, Thomas, not anymore.”  
  
Thomas looks down at his hands clutching the cigarette pack, covered by Andy’s larger one, and thinks better of it: he closes the packet and slides it back into his pocket.  
  
“You shouldn’t have skipped your class for my sake,” he says slowly instead of answering Andy’s plea, even though he knows what the answer would be – he would promise Andy the world if it meant keeping him by his side just for a while longer.  
  
Andy drops his hand, looking confused but not quite rejected – Thomas has realized in the recent weeks that Andy can read him much better that he gives himself credit for.   
  
“I wouldn’t be in that class if it wasn’t for you, so it’s only fair.”  
  
Andy rakes his fingers through his hair, even though it only messes up his curls more, and at that moment, Thomas really wants to kiss him. Right there, out in the open, with Mr Carson probably hiding in the doorway just waiting for Thomas to slip up so he can finally fire him...  
  
Andy is sweet, young, caring, and with every new day Thomas finds himself falling for him more. Even on the bad days, when everyone else’s concern makes him feel crowded, suffocated, Andy’s presence makes him feel safer, calmer – less lonely.  
  
He wants to say this and more, but at the same time he  _can’t_. Because every single time he’s opened up in the past, he’s ended up more alone than before.  
  
“I’ve no idea what you’re thinking most of the time,” Andy comments quietly when Thomas can’t come up with anything to say. He brushes his hand against Thomas’s arm gently, just a fleeting touch to tell him Andy is still there – that he’s not going anywhere.  
  
There are times when Thomas actually believes him – maybe not the words, but the gestures, the little things that Andy doesn’t seem to be aware of doing most of the time.  
  
A draft of wind blows right through Thomas’s clothes, sending shivers down his spine, reminding him that winter is slowly approaching and spending an hour outside smoking in only his livery might not have been the best idea after all.  
  
“Wanna go inside?” Andy asks, a smile now tugging at his lips. Thomas hadn’t realized he’d visibly shivered from cold right then, but obviously he must have.  
  
“Yeah, that mightn’t be a bad idea.” Thomas finds himself returning the smile only half-consciously, which in turn makes Andy’s smile widen immediately.  
  
Thomas pushes himself away from the wall and makes to walk past Andy and back to the servants’ door. Andy’s hand on his arm stops him, though, pulling him to a stop with their faces only inches apart. Again, Thomas half-expects someone to walk in on them right at that very moment.  
  
“There’s no one else here.” Andy seems to be reading his mind again. “And I’d really like to kiss you, Thomas.”  
  
“You asking for permission?” Suddenly Thomas is feeling extremely self-conscious, even though he manages to hide it with a sardonic smirk that almost makes him feel like his old self again, the one that didn’t care what other people thought of him.   
  
(It’s a lie – he  _always_  cared.)  
  
“What’d you say if I was?” Andy smiles almost shyly, his hold on Thomas’s arm tightening.  
  
“I’d probably tell you to wait until we’re behind closed doors.”  
  
Andy leans in anyways and presses a chaste kiss on Thomas’s lips. It’s almost the same as their first kiss, except this time Thomas parts his lips and returns the kiss carefully before pulling away, looking down to hide his smile.  
  
“Can I come over tonight?” Andy asks in a tone that tells Thomas he’s not really asking – he’s coming over no matter what Thomas says.  
  
“If you want to,” he replies with a casual shrug and this time he does make it to the door without Andy stopping him mid-way.  
  
“I always want to.”  
  
Thomas doesn’t show it, but Andy’s words make his heart jump up to his throat momentarily.  
  
He goes inside and it’s still one of those bad days, when he dreads facing other people and does his work with only half his mind. But even though Andy might not realize it, he did help.  
  
That night, Thomas lets Andy curl up in the small bed next to him, fully clothed, arms wrapped around his waist and one leg thrown over Thomas’s legs. He only means to close his eyes for a second, to allow himself to relax for a moment before telling Andy to go back to his own room.  
  
He wakes up in the early morning hours still wrapped up in Andy’s too warm embrace and he has no heart to wake him up while he’s looking so comfortable and peaceful in his sleep.  
  
He does wake Andy up half an hour before even the earliest of the staff are usually up, allowing him enough time to get back to his own room unnoticed. Andy grumbles and clings to Thomas for ten minutes longer, his breath warm and nice against Thomas’s neck, but this time Thomas stays resolute.  
  
Andy kisses him before he leaves. They both have terrible morning breath and their unshaved faces make the contact itchy, but it’s still nice, comfortable, and for a second Thomas imagines he could get used to this.  
  
Then Andy is gone and Thomas slips back into bed that suddenly feels far too cold and empty. He doesn’t sleep an eyeful more before his alarm clock informs him it’s time to get back to work.  
  
  
  
  
  
“Why don’t you ever touch me?” Andy asks him one day in the boot room while they’re polishing the shoes of some guests – the house is full of Lord Grantham’s old army friends, which means all the staff have their hands full with work.  
  
“What’re you talking about? I touch you every day,” Thomas argues without even looking up from his task, trying to get rid of a pestering stain that’s probably been there for ages – he silently curses the man’s valet for leaving it unattended for so long.  
  
“You know what I mean.”  
  
Thomas does know: despite it being weeks (months) since they became involved, he never initiates any intimate contact with Andy. It’s always Andy kissing him, hugging him, brushing their hands together in passing before they go off to their daily tasks.  
  
It’s not that Thomas doesn’t want to. He does.  _Good God_ , he does.  
  
“No, I don’t,” Thomas retorts stubbornly as he finally manages to remove the stain and puts the shoes aside, getting ready to leave. Combining the tasks of valet and under-butler, he still has a pile of work waiting to be finished. “And haven’t I told you not to talk about us where the others might hear it?”  
  
“There’s no one here.” Andy rounds the table until he’s standing right in front of Thomas, blocking his way out. “And I don’t  _care_  what the others might think. I told you when I first kissed you, didn’t I? Just let them talk.”  
  
“It’s not that simple,” Thomas says quietly, shrugging off Andy’s hand when he touches his shoulder. “You’ve never been in that place before – the way they look at you changes, the way they  _act_  around you changes. Once they know, you can never take it back.”  
  
“I’m not taking it back!” Andy snaps, so loudly Thomas in surprised no one comes running in to see what the commotion’s about. At least Andy has the decency to look embarrassed by his own outburst; his tone is back to normal when he continues, “Jesus, Thomas, you’re not about to make this easy for me, are you? I want to be with you. Body, soul, everything. I want to make you happy. That’s not going to change, no matter what Mr Carson or anyone else thinks about it.”  
  
It’s the first time he’s said it out loud, even though it’s been obvious from all his gestures and actions. Thomas  _knows_  Andy’s not going anywhere, at least as long as Thomas doesn’t tell him to. That’s what scares him the most: that despite all Thomas’s earlier doubts, he now knows Andy truly does care about him, which means he has everything to lose when he inevitably fucks things up.  
  
Thomas doesn’t deserve to be happy, so it’s only a matter of time before things go bad between them. And once that happens, Andy should still have the choice to go back to his old life.  
  
Andy seems to take his silence as disbelief, because he takes a hold of Thomas’s hand and continues, speaking the words Thomas can’t remember ever being addressed to him before: “I’m in love with you, Thomas. I know you’ve many doubts about us, but please don’t doubt that one.”  
  
There’s something wet on Thomas’s face. He realizes it’s his own tears only when Andy reaches out a gentle hand to wipe them away.  
  
“I don’t deserve it,” Thomas whispers vehemently. “I don’t deserve to be loved. I don’t deserve  _you_.”  
  
Andy looks close to tears now too. Thomas wants to tell him not to cry, that he’s not worth Andy’s tears.  
  
“Love’s not something you need to earn, Thomas,” Andy tells him softly, his thumbs stroking the soft skin under his eyes, wiping away the tears before they have a chance to fall down his cheeks. “And even if it was, you’d have earned it many times over by now. There’s no one who’d deserve it more than you. Absolutely no one.”  
  
Andy is a terrible liar, which is why Thomas has no reason to doubt his words. But he’s wrong, he must be, because what else would Thomas have been fighting for all these years?  
  
Andy leans his forehead against Thomas’s, both hands cupping his face, their breaths mixing together. “I love you, Thomas Barrow. I wish there was some way for me to show it to you.”  
  
He does, he shows it every day, and Thomas  _loves_  him for it.  _God_ , does he love him.  
  
Andy lets out a surprised sound when Thomas tilts his face upwards and catches his lips with his own, the first kiss he’s initiated, even though Andy did most of the work this time as well.  
  
Andy’s mouth opens under his, allowing Thomas to press his tongue between the soft lips and caress Andy’s tongue with his own. Thomas’s hands settle on Andy’s waist, pulling him closer until they’re pressed flush together. After all the worrying and doubts, it suddenly feels so  _right_  to hold Andy like this.  
  
“I love you. I love you so much,” Andy repeats against his lips when they pull apart for some air – it’s like a dam has broken after he first said it and he can’t say it often enough now. Thomas kisses him again, stealing the words right off his lips.  
  
Andy shifts his weight, pressing Thomas against the table, his hands dropping from his face and slipping under his jacket instead, pulling the buttons open and crumbling the white shirt underneath. Thomas realizes he doesn’t care, even though Mr Carson will have his head later if his clothes are even a bit out of place.  
  
He almost loses his footing, only the table behind his back keeping him upright. Thomas breaks the kiss and tries to correct his stance. Andy chuckles against his mouth, nibbling his lower lip playfully, except the laugh turns into a surprised moan when Thomas’s thigh presses between his legs and against his obvious erection.  
  
“We can’t do this here,” Thomas grits out, even though his own pants are feeling uncomfortably tight and he has no idea how he’s going to make it into his own room without someone noticing the dishevelled state he’s in.  
  
“I know,” Andy replies even as he rocks his hips against Thomas’s, letting out another moan before he catches Thomas’s lips into another kiss, probably in an attempt to keep silent.   
  
The thought of getting caught crosses Thomas’s mind only momentarily, but it’s all gone when Andy’s movements put pressure on his own cock. It’s been so long since he last touched another man like this – before he met Andy, before the conversion therapy, before Jimmy…  
  
He pushes the thought of Jimmy out of his mind and focuses on the press of Andy’s body against his. He’s wanted to do this for so long; it’d make no sense to ruin it by thinking about a years-old crush. Andy’s hands are gripping his hips now, thumbs under the waistband of his trousers, pushing them as low as they go without opening the fly.  
  
Thomas knows they should stop. They should go back to one of their rooms. They should at least  _lock the bloody door_.  
  
All rational thought runs away from him with Andy’s strangled “Thomas” that turns into a moan in the middle of the word, and then the footman’s hips still against his, his breaths coming out in shallow puffs against his lips. “Bloody hell.”  
  
“Well, that didn’t take long.” Thomas tries to hold back the teasing comment, he really does, but old habits die hard and he’s still painfully hard inside his trousers. Andy only offers him a breathy laugh and then dips his head to the side to kiss Thomas’s neck, his teeth grazing the sensitive spot between his jaw and ear.  
  
“It’s your fault, really, for keeping me on the edge for so long.” His voice is just a soft murmur against Thomas’s earlobe, but it still sends shivers running down his back. No matter what he might say about Andy’s endurance, Thomas isn’t that far behind at this point.  
  
“Don’t put your inexperience on me, boy.”  
  
Andy laughs again and nibbles on Thomas’s ear gently. Then his hands are on Thomas’s fly and Thomas has no chance to protest before the long fingers wrap around his shaft and bring him over the edge with only a few strokes.  
  
“Well, there goes the last of my pride, then,” Thomas mutters flatly, which only makes Andy’s shoulders shake harder with silent laughter. When he finally lifts his face to look at Thomas, his eyes are shining with unguarded adoration, and Thomas can’t help but smile back at him.   
  
They’ve gone too far to go back now.  
  
“We really should go get changed now,” Thomas reminds him quietly as he untangles himself from Andy’s embrace and pulls his trousers up. They feel uncomfortably sticky and Thomas doesn’t have to look down to know they probably look just as bad.  
  
“I’m sleeping over tonight, though. Right?”  
  
“If you say so.”  
  
Andy rolls his eyes at Thomas’s apparent lack of enthusiasm. “I know you love me too.”  
  
Thomas doesn’t say it, but he does brush his fingers against Andy’s cheek gently, as if to make sure he truly is there, saying these things to him, before heading for the door. Andy’s smile makes him feel warm inside – much warmer than he has in a very long time.  
  
Maybe there is a chance, after all. Maybe he can give  _them_  a chance.  
  
They sneak out of the boot room – it’s one of those times when Thomas is actually glad to have done all that sneaking around during his time at Downton – and miraculously make it back to their rooms without getting caught. Andy even dares to kiss Thomas right there in the corridor before slipping through the door, ignoring the half-hearted glare Thomas offers him in return.  
  
Thomas does get a scolding from Mr Carson later for not having finished all his duties in time.   
  
Frankly, he can’t bring himself to care, not when he can see Andy’s smug smile in the dinner table over the butler’s broad shoulder.


End file.
